


tell the human apart

by Snowfaun



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Angst, Canon, Kinda, M/M, Nostalgia, and my boys are pretty much alive, and sora is still happy and sleeping, but like before the xion thing, it takes place during 358/2 days, when the guys at hollow bastion start the reconstruction project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 11:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15169262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfaun/pseuds/Snowfaun
Summary: Saïx has this cold tone, moth-eating eyes, gauzy teeth, a name too short to be forgotten.





	tell the human apart

Saïx has this cold tone his mother had warned him about, Axel thinks, “this,” she had said, “this voice you use for the wolves,” and she had held his hand between hers as if he had a really bad fever and she had whispered then again “go, go now, don’t talk to your father like that” and Axel had always kept his voice warm and boiled like a nice winter soup.

But Saïx has this cold tone.

“Axel”, he says, half-shadowed by the moonlight, half-alight by the dim ceiling lamp, “where have you been?”

“Y’know, just wandering around, doing my job, making sure nobody betrays us today. Usual stuff.”

“You were supposed to be paired up with Xigbar, but he said you didn’t show up.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate.”

Saïx looks at him as he is about to jump at his throat, tear the flesh apart, eat his nice winter soup.

“Where have you been?,” he repeats, calmer this time, softer, angrier.

It takes a while for Axel to answer. He reaches for his glass of water and takes a sip. He can see Saïx’ yellow pupils tingling from the corner of his eye.

“I was—,” he finally says, “I went to Radiant Garden.” He feels very ashamed, having admitted so, he feels very ashamed and very warm on the cheeks. Saïx says nothing. Axel says quite a few more. “I wanted to know if it was true, you know— they kept saying it had come back as to— as to what it used to be, right? I wanted to make sure it was true.”

“Was it?”

“Sorry?”

“Was it true? What they were saying.”

“Oh— well, yeah.” Axel sits on his bed, scratches the back of his head, tries not to look directly at Saïx’ moth-eating pupils. “I guess it was.”

“Fine.”

Saïx has this cold tone.

 

***

 

From the top of the train station the sun looks a lot like a moth, Axel thinks. It has this dirty white tone and holds the same exact wings as an insect: faint rays mixed with scattered, half-transparent clouds; they look like a worn bandage.

“Everything’s going well?,” Roxas sits by his side, offers him an ice-cream, watches the sunset at peace.

“Yup.” Axel takes it and nods his head to thank him. “How about you? Did something interesting happen today?”

“I went to Neverland!” Axel can tell how Roxas was trying to not sound too childish, but he cannot hold the excitement when he starts explaining how he could fly, how he had seen fairies the size of little crabs, how he had fought against pirates and beasts and monsters of the deep. “There were even mermaids,” he says, “but I wouldn’t get too close to them, if you want my advice.”

“Why so?”

Roxas shrugs. He has already finished his ice-cream and plays with the stick on the border of the tower.

“I just didn’t like them very much. They’re all in love with Peter, aren’t really fond of people getting close to him. Tried to kill a girl a couple of months ago, I was told.”

“Woah.”

“Yeah.” The station square is empty now, and very silent. It looks like a fruit bowl after a great meal. “Where did they send you?”

“Nowhere near that interesting, that’s for sure.” Axel looks at the last sunset rays, spilling blood over the bandage, soaking it with vicious murder. “I just stayed here,” he lies.

 

***

 

“It still looks better at night.” Lexaeus leans against one of the walls, watches the broken fountain. “Do you remember how it looked like?”

“The font?”

“The city.”

Axel thinks of how there used to be flowers right here, on this worn away pavement, and over there, at that window on the second floor, and an ill scented bouquet of roses would always be found inside the bakery. Now it smells like a dusty attic nobody has visited in years, some old photos scattered around the floor under a grey newspaper, a toy noone has asked for since the children have grown up; a life contained inside an ambar-like room.

“No,” he says, “I don’t remember much.”

“Neither do I.” Lexaeus stares now at an empty street someday had been busy and crowded and dazzling with bright new viandants and all the things a street hopes to be. “Was there a library in that corner?”

Axel nods. “I think so.”

“Then you _do_ remember,” Lexaeus concludes.

“And so do you.”

“I don’t remember almost anything, but sometimes I do get some kind of flashes, you know? I remember being told to scort Zexion here on his birthday. Someone wanted to gift him a new book.”

“Who?”

“That I don’t remember.”

Axel remembers the library, but is not capable of remembering a single title, a single line, a single cover of some bright coloured book with golden lettering and Saïx’ pupils when they still weren’t Saïx’ and they still weren’t yellowish, moth-eating, golden lettering.

 

***

 

Saïx has this cold, cold tone, Axel thinks. The kind of cold you cannot suppress by sleeping near the stove, grouping blankets, breathing in the fire as a thorough smoker. It is a much deeper cold, like the one a kid gets when they fall under a river, probably in November or another autumn month, not winter yet, all shivering, quite afraid. “This,” his mother had warned him, “this water you give to the dogs, this is not human-concerning water, this is for the beasts,” and she had then held his hands tight between hers as if he didn’t know what a human was and she wanted to make sure he could understand it, “now go,” she had then said, “go and stop shivering,” and so Axel had always tried to stay warm and boiling like a nice summer bonfire.

But Saïx has this cold, cold tone.

“Axel,” he says, standing at his door with his arms crossed, “did you go back there?”

“Yes,” he answers, very straight, very attentive. “I did go back.”

“You’re neglecting your duties, being this careless.”

Saïx looks much paler now, at this time of the day, at this place of the night. Axel wonders if he can still tell the human apart from him.

“I did _not_ neglect anything,” he defends himself. “I went at night this time.”

“So you’d be worn out the next day? And not complete your tasks?”

“So I’d be there on the next day, and complete my tasks.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of not caring about anything?”

Axel thinks about Radiant Garden's walls, and flowers, and houses, and trees. He misses the trees the most. There are not many in this world. Here everything looks prefabricated, artificial, cold as a metal fork. The moon is still the same, at least. Not a bandaged sun, but just a moon, not round enough, not hole enough, made for wolves and for dogs and for beasts and monsters and everything with teeth in it.

“I get tired of caring too much,” he finally says.

Saïx gives no answer, nor any scolding. He holds his breath, that Axel can tell, holds his breath so much it makes him seem somehow alive, brighter, redder, his feeble face suddenly closer to a crimson wine, still not enough, still cold under all that colour.

“Lexaeus said you remember things.” Ah, there finally comes the awaited accusation, all rampant on a white mare, riding sidesaddle. “You understand that is not possible.”

“I understand it.”

“Then you’re either lying now or you lied then.”

“I’m not a liar.”

“Being a liar and lying are two distinct things.”

Saïx’ eyes are like that corner of the room that never gets enough light, and Axel thinks he’d rather have it this way.

“I remember your voice when it was not this cold and not this deep and I certainly remember your voice when it was not here, but there, and we were standing near the fountain on a hot summer day and I remember thinking about drowning, but not drowning, and you were human then, but now your eyes are so keen.”

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, English is not my mother language, so I'm pretty much open to any correction!  
> Thank you for reading and I hope it helped you die a little as it has helped me.


End file.
